


Me, Hennessy and You

by babyboytimmy



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Armie wants him baaaad, Band, Jealousy, M/M, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 01:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyboytimmy/pseuds/babyboytimmy
Summary: Armie's real fucked up for his friend's boyfriend. His friend's boyfriend with the pretty hair and purple bruises on his hips.





	1. Chapter 1

The lights are low. The room dim and heady with thick grey clouds of smoke.

Andre, the band’s drummer put purple bulbs in the spotlight and it casts a really sickly glow over everyone. Not soft like lavender, more angry like a bruise.

Like the bruises on the lead singer’s cute boyfriend’s hips.

Though Armie doesn’t really mind Alex, damn well knew the kid since middle school, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like this twisting feeling either. He hates himself for even entertaining the thought.

The thought that he cares what happens in Alex’s personal life, well, more specifically the boy he’s with.

He only noticed last Friday, saw the way the boy's shirt rode up while hugged his boyfriend. Armie's not to be blamed for looking right? It's not like he was searching the boy's skin purposely. They were blotchy and dark, an eye sore. How was he not supposed to notice?

It’s wrong. Alex is his friend, and Armie’s straight.

So why does he go home, crawls up in bed each night and think about that kid?

Why does he have this gut clenching, grossly absurd worry, a wonder on what goes on between them.

Maybe Armie’s just a good person. He repeats that thought a lot. It’s comforting but for only so long.

The boy is there, hiding in the corner. Idle in his movements. Like a tic he picks at the belt loop on his jeans as he peers up at his boyfriend on the homemade garage stage.

Alex is belting out the lyrics from some 80s band Armies forgot the name of. It’s aggressive, loud. Armies hums to the bassline and tips his head back as bitter, luke warm rum glides past his uvula.

Armie’s vision swirls out of focus for a second. He’s drunk for sure and has a taste for learning the boy’s name. Maybe next time. He fears looking out of place. He also cringes at the mere thought that Alex would assume he’s flirting with his boyfriend.

Next time.

Alex’s stringy straight hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, eyes ignited with a force that he belts out through the rawness of his throat.

The boy looks absolutely smitten and Armie has to look away, the sting of something lying bitter in his chest.

  
When he gets home his sneakers are scuffed. All proof of his frustration with his own actions. His pitiful thoughts.

He jerks off using a sock, it smells of clean linen and he avoids thinking about his mother’s ashamed face if she ever finds it.

He tries to think of big tits. Pretty blonde girls in porn flicks.

The image of an even prettier boy floods his mind instead. Brunette curls. A nice little ass.

He cries into the give of his pillow after he cums.


	2. Chapter 2

Armie ducks his head as he slides under the Pella garage door. Everything about this is weirdly stereotypical. Like a cheesy teen movie. There’s red Solo cups littering a path up to the driveway, loud rap coming from Alex's sound system. It’s a dingy thing he copped for fifty dollars at their local pawn. It works like a diamond though. It’s loud, aggressive with the slightest crackle you can tune out when the bass gets too loud.

He smells the familiarity of marijuana wafting thick clouds in the air, slow moving like a river.

He hates to admit it, but he only got his sluggish ass out of bed for one reason. That reason that also makes his shoulders crumble when he spots what he’s searching for.

The boy is pressed up against the wall, one leg wrapped around Alex’s bony hips. They’re grinding and sloppily clashing tongues. The sight only bothers him because it’s too much PDA he reasons with himself.

There’s a mess of people here today. All of them are people Armie has a vague memory of meeting but never people he chills with. They’re smoking thick backwoods and passing a cheap hello kitty bowl around.

“Heyyyy, man,” Andre yells to him, eyes peering up at Armie’s massive frame. Armie tries to keep his gaze from moving back to the kid in the corner, forces himself to maintain his eyes on Andre’s horribly dyed purple hair. It’s short to the nub, most definitely would feel like a pine cone if Armie brushed his fingers through it.

“What’s up, dude?” Armie grins easy, his inner self tying up knots in comparison.

“We’re having a party,” Andre says, like Armie’s blind to it all. He’s fucking plastered and the breeze of vodka hits Armie's nostrils.

Armie claps a hand on his back, “right, I’m gonna go get a drink.”

He pushes past him quickly. He strains to keep his head down. It’s beyond difficult when he’s the goddamn tallest person in the compact little room.

He nudges a redhead chick with a beaded top with his elbow. He didn’t mean to, but he doesn’t stop to apologize either. Head all flooded with mix feelings. All he needs to satiate this mental conflict is something bitter to drink.

The boy is suddenly in front of him. Narrow, dressed in a long sleeve shirt that dangles past his ass and acid wash jeans. Armie averts his gaze from that area, instantly feeling weird for even assessing what the boy is wearing.

They knock limbs on accident, just elbows brushing. A bony one to his firmer one. Armie nearly pisses himself. The boy jumps back a little, shaky limbed on his pink converse clad feet.

“My bad,” he quips with an embarrassingly obvious stutter, liquor sloshing over the edge of his plastic cup when he pours quick.

The boy waits silently, obviously planning to do the same thing.

Those bruises on his hips…

He can’t see them, doesn’t want to. Why would he? Why is he thinking like this?

The kid grabs the bottle from his hand when he’s about to place it back. Slender fingers wrapping smoothly around the neck.

“Alex wants another,” he explains simply as if Armie had ever spoken with him. He hasn’t. The closest he’d ever gotten was last Saturday, Alex invited their whole clique over for three rounds of Basketball. The boy didn’t play, sat close though, criss crossed and quiet. When Armie asked Alex why the new kid didn’t join he’d just said the boy had a sprained wrist. Alex never mentions him by name, just call him ‘my boy.'

“How do you know Alex?” Armie asks dumbly. So painfully stupid. The kid has been making out with Alex for a whole month. They even hold each other’s hands while leaving school for Christ sakes.

Armie kind of wants a portal sink hole to open below his feet and swallow him whole. He can barely manage eye contact, but when he does he holds it.

The boy’s face crumbles instantly. Armie instinctively wants to coddle him. It’s just because the kid has a baby face. Not because Armie finds him cute in a weird way or anything. It’s a kid kind of cute, like when a toddler cries for its binky. Definitely not in a sensual way. That’d be strange right?

“What’s the matter?” Armie can’t help it. He wants to hear that breathy voice again that sends shudders down his spine. What?

God his mind loves playing tricks on him. It’s just intrusive thoughts, and they are the opposite of what you really want.

“So.. He hasn’t mentioned me,” the boy states, a shudder to his voice as he peers down at his own shoes. The way he clenches the plastic cup looks like it’s seconds from spilling.

Armie doesn’t know what to say, so he just shrugs weakly.

The boy disappears into the crowd before Armie can exhale.

  
Armie hits the bowl hard. He didn’t intend to come here and smoke but it’s free and it fogs his brain so why not. Andre is giggling like a mad man, his short girlfriend punching his ribs a tad hard.

“So I told her, I told her to stop babe, I said I had a girl but she wouldn’t listen,” his girlfriend, Keegan, snorts and turns away.

“Baby! I’m serious!” Andre shouts, following after.

Alex shoves past Armie out of nowhere, pulling the boy along with a rough grip on his arm.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought-“

“Shut the fuck up,” Alex hisses, their voices fading out as Alex forces the boy into the house with him.

Armie feels a thickness in his throat. Suddenly not feeling such a pleasant, light weight high.

  
He thinks about the red eyes on the kid as he walks home in the dark.

The moon glows calm. He feels unsettled even when he rests his bones in his sheets.

He twists and turns all night. The boy getting yanked like a disobedient dog replaying in his head.

Finally, when his vision blurs at nearly three am he falls into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen next ? 😋


	3. Chapter 3

His head pangs with an angry migraine when he wakes up. He dresses quickly and wears jeans that reek of spilled Gin but he couldn’t care less. He’s exhausted and just wants the school day to fly by.

School is ending in a week, the guarantee of lazy freedom is bliss. Though he’ll miss Steven, his math buddy who lives far, he has a ton of friends who live close. He’s looking forward to the days of sleeping in past noon and smoking weed out his window all night. Most of all the parties that’ll be thrown, coming home when the Sun comes up and drinking again with his friend’s when he wakes.

Andre and the crew are his best friend’s. The mere thought of spending the Summer absence of their oddly chaotic energy would be down right depressing.

Alex had been one of his friend’s since middle school. Alex is always the friend who gives him shit but in all good fun. Lately though, something switched inside him. Alex's jokes that’d used to make Armie snort with amusement now make him grimace with an edge of annoyance.

He tells himself on repeat that it has nothing to do with his boyfriend. Why should he care anyways? He doesn’t even know an ounce of information about the kid.

  
The school day passes in a speed of light. No one’s taking the teachers seriously. It’s practically break already.

His mom comes home from work at four, her hair tied messily and her Rouge lipstick pale from wear.

“Long day?” he asks, chewing on a mouthful of coco puffs. He removes his offending feet from the counter top, it’s too late but she doesn’t even bother scolding him for it. It’d be the hundredth time.

“Long day,” she repeats in agreement, her voice raspy. She empties the remainder of liquid in the coffee pot into her favorite mug. It has a Monet painting embellished on it.

  
Later on his ma’s buried under blankets, only her face and blonde frizzy hair visible as she watches Two and a Half Men. He grabs his sneakers that’d he’d abandoned by the front door.

“Going out?” she assumes correctly, not moving her gaze from the television.

He looks down at his phone, sending to Andre ‘OMW’

“Yeah, gonna go see Andre and the boys,” he remarks, opening the door in a haste.

“Don’t get home too late!” she calls after him.

  
He’s only there for an half hour before he’s almost completely shit faced. Well, it wasn’t his idea to start. Andre sparked up a fatty which than turned to three shots of Gin for everyone. They’ve been watching an old film on Alex’s tiny little box TV. The grain so thick and Andre’s overpowering voice stalls him a good fifteen minutes of the flick before he realizes it’s the Blair Witch Project.

“Jesus fucking Christ, if that TV flickers one more time,” Zach grouches, eye lids all heavy and squinted. He’s an A1 stoner. He can smoke a blunt faster than anyone he’d ever met. His dreads look like rope and Armie momentarily zones out to the dry texture of it.

Andre smacks Zack on the back of his head, a hard thump that overtakes the gritty audio coming from the television.

“Stop bitchin man, you know Alex's mom would throw a bitch fit if we snuck out her _precious_ flat screen,” Andre points out, settling his lazy weight back into old couch cushions.

“Where’s Alex?” Armie verbalizes with compulsion. He feels light weight. Airy in his own head. Finally lets himself freely envision Alex's boyfriend’s tainted hips and ponders what transpired last night. Does Alex beat him? What if it’s consensual?

The idea of a boy that young looking with such a lissom, narrow frame enabling his boyfriend to hurt him is strange. He doesn’t know which case he’d prefer. If the boy is getting assaulted Armie would put an end to it, some way, some how. Though the other hand? The option that the boy likes the abuse digs worse. It doesn’t fit. Nothing about it clicking into place.

The sprain.

He vaguely remembers Andre saying something about it. No one enjoys a sprain. Armie knows his fair share of BDSM by the way too, and never has injured bones been something he’d read about nor been into.

“He’s in the kitchen with that little boyfriend of his,” Andre remarks with a snicker, leant over the cushion to ash the blunt into an empty coke can. The Blair Witch is running calm at the second, just the pack of them setting up their tent in the lonely crevice of the woods. He’s half watching, ultimately stuck in the confines of his skull without wishing to.

The DVD player sends rainbow stripes vehement in their movements upon the screen when the door to the kitchen slams open. The knob swatting the unfinished dry wall.

Zach smacks the screen, haste in his mission to remove the fuzzy pixels of black and grey from sight. Alex descends the two low steps from the kitchen door, his boyfriend following close behind, head down like a cowering animal.

“Shit man, this flick was just getting good,” Zach grumbles. Andre coughs up a lungful of smoke and adjusts the USB insert, correcting it in a mere half second that sends Zach scowling. Armie stays immovable, refusing to give in to his fascination to peer at Alex and his boyfriend. The TV is ever moving but Armie disregards it whole.

He dares one minuscule glance over, admires the slope of Alex’s boyfriend’s back. God, he’s tired of mentioning Alex. The desire to label that kid with his actual name is unbearable.

What’s wrong with him? What is he thinking? Does that mean…

Does he fucking _like_ the kid?

The boy glances at him, green shaded with purple.

His eye is blackened.

Armie holds contact, couldn’t look away even if a whole entire church prayed for him to.

His gut churns like a bubbling volcanic eruption awaiting its moment to kiss air.

  
His ass is numb from lack of movement and he doesn’t peel his eyes from the TV after that. Not even once. Not even when he can feel the boy’s gaze burning holes into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback motivates me to update faster 💘 thank you ✨🌟


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a night, to put it simply.

Andre's party is fucking wild. There’s plastered bikini girls by Andre's in ground pool doing dares with the boys. Two of them are dared to back flip topless into the dark waters. Armie has to look away out of fear one of them is going to crack their skull on the edge of the sand concrete. He hears the smack splash and then the cheers, he exhales in bliss. Thank God for the absent need of an ambulance.

This new kid in town, AJ, sold him an an eighth for 60, it’s double what he usually spends but the quality is fresh from Cali so the baggie entered his pocket with no complaints.

Andre’s in the corner of his kitchen when Armie goes inside. Armie heads over to him, maneuvering his tall limbs past a group of chicks taking shots of white tequila.

Armie pegs the baggie full of weed at Andre’s chest, “roll up two fatties for me, you can keep one.”

The thick girl hanging off his side sluggishly pulls away, grabbing at her throat.

“Oh shit, sink sink sink!” Andre yelps, jumping up on his feet to pull her to it. The girls doing shots scatter like mice, a disgusted look infiltrating their faces.

They make it just in time, an orangey, putrid smelling bile exiting her throat like Armie’s tuning in to an exorcist marathon. It sloshes a miniscule amount on to the counter top, but luckily most goes down the drain.

He grimaced to himself, Andre pats the chick on the back and mutters something to her. She flicks her gaze around the room full of onlookers, spit smeared on her mouth and her liner running. She goes to the glass door, heading outside while Andre heads straight to him.

“Dude, she nearly frosted my lap,” Andre groans. He waves the bag, dangling it in Armie’s face, “let’s go roll this outside, I need some fresh air.”

  
Andre nearly burns him when he hands him one lit blunt, cherry forward and straight to Armie’s palm.

“Jesus-“ Armie hisses, resisting the urge to pop him on the back of his head. “How drunk are you?”

Andre sighs, leaning on him kind of.

“She broke up with me.”

His brows rise to his hairline, “what? No way, Keegan is obsessed with you bro!”

There’s no way. She liked him since middle school and pestered Armie since freshman year to get Andre to talk to her. Shit, she’d even sent him cards filled with girly scribbly hearts.

“She did. She thinks I cheated on her,” he trails off, grimacing as the heat of his flicked lighter blows in his face. Armie puffs on his own, coughing roughly at it. He’s used to swisher sweets, not backwoods.

Armie thumps him on the arm, “lighten up, that chick ain’t going no where. Just make it up to her.”

Andre scoffs, but turns to look at him anyways. “You think that’ll do it?”

“Yeah man,” Armie hums, relishing in to the instant head high. The smoke creates this weightless feeling in his brain but heaviness in his body. It’s nice, smooth, calming.

“May I join?”

Andre looks back first. Armie doesn’t at all. He despises his own inners for instantly recognizing that voice.

“Why not?” Andre chides, patting besides himself. Armie releases the pent up air he was holding, praising the Lord the boy didn’t plop beside him.

“Do you smoke?” Armie tries, attempting light conversation with the kid. He curses madly in his mind for noticing the jeans the boy is wearing shape his thighs real nice. Why does he care? Why does he find the slight softness of them attractive? Why does his gaze burn holes into the gentle, pale rise of flesh just mere inches exposed above the waist band?

He’s fucking cursed. His ma was right all along.

It can’t be true. If he ignores it long enough he could stop it, right? But there’s no ignoring that. There’s no ignoring this displaced feeling, these consistent, increasingly wrong thoughts for this kid. He’s so utterly helpless in this. His body is a guillotine of its own.

“Sometimes,” the boy replies, idly reaching for Andre’s, whose willingly passing to him.

Armie’s stomach sinks at that gentle rasp. The honey sweetness to it. He inhales deeply to prepare for his next inquiry.

“So what’s your name kid?"

The boy rolls his eyes, some smoke blowing out his nose as he releases the pull.

“Well, I may look young but I’m not no kid, my name’s Timothée,” the boy collects himself shyly, peering down at his own lap.

Andre’s laugh comes out scratchy, raw from drinking and smoking. “Like, Tim-o-tee?” he half ass pronounces. The boy giggles and Armie elbows Andre jokingly in the ribs with an amused snort.

The boy leans Andre’s way, returning the backwoods swiftly between his fingers. “Tim-o-tay,” the boy, Timothée corrects.

“Tim-o-tay,” Armie tries, snorting at the pretentious sound to it, “yeah, I’m just gonna call you Timmy.”

The boy smiles, crooked and charming, “that’s what everyone calls me anyways.” Armie’s belly circles with glee, he made Timmy smile and spots that his bruise is nearly disappeared.

  
“Have you seen Alex?” Timmy asks them later with such a keenness look to his eyes that Armie can’t match their gazes.

“I have,” Andre butts in, going to grip Timothée’s arm to lead him but Timmy jumps back like he’d been shocked.

“Sorry- sorry, I’m just sensitive there,” he explains, wide eyed and jittery. His shirt is small but still swallows him whole.

Andre sends Armie a look. A look only they can decipher clearly. It’s the ‘we’ll talk about this later’ look. Armie knows what they both think. He holds his tongue and watches Timmy follow behind Andre through the thick mass of crowd.

It’s nearly five a.m.

The sun is peeking. The sky turning from a black to a muted, gloomy blue. The cicadas are quieting, even they are exhausted from their constant chirp.

Armie’s baggie has one nug left and he’s got a thin swisher rolled tight to perfection between his fingers.

“I’ll help you clean up later,” Armie promises genuinely, both their heavy lidded eyes scanning Andre’s backyard for all the littered Solo cups and liquor bottles.

“Thanks man,” Andre sighs, squinting as he presses his hand to his head. He’s got a hangover headache. It’s nothing that he’s not used to.

“You said Monica’s coming back on Monday?”

Andre nods. His mother, Monica went to see family without him. She’d left him by himself to house sit.

Armie passes him the blunt, a billow of smoke from his 2nd hit leaving the pink inners of his mouth.

“I think I like Alex’s boyfriend,” Armie sighs tragically, he sounds all too much like he’d said his grandma died.

Andre twitches against him in awe.

“Your serious?”

“I think so,” Armie groans, burying his pathetic self into his palms.

“You know what Alex does to him?” Andre asks simply. No holds barred.

It’s true. They both know it.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed and like the AU idea 💕✨  
> This will have more chapters for those who aren't aware ✨


End file.
